


comfort and joy

by casualbird



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hand Feeding, Light Dom/sub, No Spoilers, Nonbinary Character, Other, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Thighriding, cottagecore pornography, that one white nightgown that's in all of my smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28327317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Dimitri shifts when he’s through eating, flattening one cheek against Dedue’s soft knee. But they only hush him, weave thick fingers in his hair.“There’s no need to rush,” they murmur, deep and clean as a well, and the pad of their thumb brushes gentle against the rough scar at Dimitri’s brow. “Just rest, my dear one, there’s time.”Time, silence, the most perfect almost-solitude: these things are unheard of to a king. Dimitri purrs with them, nuzzles against the hem of Dedue’s nightdress.Dimitri spends his rare reprieve being quite spoiled, for once.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	comfort and joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Archaeopteryx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeopteryx/gifts).



> dedue is transfeminine nb in this because that is the way bird likes it, and i am bound to do the things bird likes. masc-coded language is used sparingly for their Business, which i hope is alright
> 
> but anyway! enjoy! and if your name is bird! enjoy extra! it is all for you!

He’s taken nearly all his meals like this since they arrived, curled into Dedue’s side, or else laid across their lap. He kneels, now, on the bedchamber floor, a thick cushion shielding wearied knees. Dedue speaks softly to him, parts his lips with coaxing fingers, plying him with little bites.

The food is heavy with Duscur spices, and Dimitri would swear he could taste it, just the littlest bit. Mostly, though, it is the knowledge that all the spread was made for him, formed just so under Dedue’s gentle hands.

He does so love to watch them cook, while they’re here. Hidden away in this little cottage with its whitewashed walls, with its herb gardens, lost somewhere in the foothills of Duscur--it’s clear Dedue is home.

They cook at the palace, when circumstance allows, but nothing suits them like a little kitchen with dried sage hanging from its rafters, a stout little stove. No logistics, no scurrying staff--just them and their creation. Just Dimitri gazing softly on from the sofa, eyepatch left and head uncrowned.

Just the two of them, the highland brisk, the quilts that keep it off.

Dimitri shifts when he’s through eating, flattening one cheek against Dedue’s soft knee. But they only hush him, weave thick fingers in his hair.

“There’s no need to rush,” they murmur, deep and clean as a well, and the pad of their thumb brushes gentle against the rough scar at Dimitri’s brow. “Just rest, my dear one, there’s time.”

Time, silence, the most perfect almost-solitude: these things are unheard of to a king. Dimitri purrs with them, nuzzles against the hem of Dedue’s nightdress.

He quiets himself, soft and long on practiced breaths, on the feeling of Dedue’s fingers on his jaw, the absence of pain in his knees. He’s learned to calm his nerves this way, been taught this at Dedue’s soft side, years and years and years ago.

It’s possible that he’ll never perfect the art, not the way Dedue has. Not with their tranquility in the kitchen, with their knitting needles, lying back and staring patient at the sky of their motherland.

Here, though, with callused fingertips against his pulse, with gentle humming in his ear, it is enough. For a rare moment, Fhirdiad and its fol-de-rol feel truly far away.

Dimitri thinks of the crater lake they visited that morning, the way the water shimmered, held him up as he drifted on his back. He was all spread and laid out like a full skirt, a blanket. It’s the way he feels now, held, moored only to Dedue.

They stroke the tautness from his neck, hooking their fingers underneath to check his collar. He drowses, a while, with the relief of it, the stalwart security he can’t find anywhere else.

Dedue made the collar for him, of course, in their wonderful hand. Braided suede, the colors of their best-beloved scarf.

A little faded, now, from how it was when they were young. Dimitri only loves it dearer for that. It reminds of the years they’ve stood as each others’ shields, that there is no sign of that ever, ever changing.

He is Dedue’s, he is theirs, it is something known as deep as his own name.

Still he thrills with it, every time. Lists his head against their softest inner thigh, mouthing at the stretch-marked skin.

“M’yours,” he sighs, so softly voiced as to be barely audible, but Dedue knows. Knows and tells him so, in the distant thunderroll of their voice, the trace of their fingertips across his unshaven jaw.

“You are,” they tell him, and it’s a shivering thing, a frisson of joy and rightness. Sometimes, when he says so, Dedue will wave him off. _Your own man,_ they call him, _and a good one._

And to hear that--to hear that from _them,_ it’s--Dimitri huffs a little whine, panting soft against thin skin. Shifts his weight, a little, on bended knees.

Dedue only soothes him, covers scarred shoulders with broad hands, with the tender mantle of their tone. _Yes,_ they say, _I know._

And they do, Dimitri is certain. For all the scores of times he’s told them, curled in the warm curve of their body, they must know it like they’d know a recipe, an ancient song.

“You’ve been very good, love,” Dedue says, carefully, and Dimitri rings with it, dizzies, drifts away.

 _Love,_ he murmurs, with slick-swollen lips on skin. No mathematician in Faerghus, in the _world_ could tell him how many times he’d been Dedue’s love, but it is the one thing about him that refuses to tarnish, to age.

“I,” he mumbles, “I want--”

He can feel Dedue smiling down at him, warm like an evening in late spring. Can feel the way they bend to reach for him, to gather him up and help him to his feet, steady his arms so sleepy knees won’t falter.

It’s a long clambering moment before he’s on the mattress proper, and another before he’s curled into their lap, cradled safe against their breast.

Dedue is the only one who could ever enfold Dimitri like this.

It’s the only way he’d have it.

“Tell me,” Dedue murmurs, into the part of Dimitri’s thinning hair. “My Dima, tell me what you want.”

There’s only one answer, has only ever been one answer. That it comes out muzzy, affected, doesn’t change a thing.

“Want to be _good,”_ he pleads, voice chipping at the rim like old stoneware. But he feels the slow shake of Dedue’s head, the placid little curling of their lips.

“You are, dear heart,” they say again, “you have been.”

A sigh, thick and sweet and easy. “I’ve nothing more to ask of you tonight,” they tell him, and it is the full and simple truth. They’d spent nigh on the entire evening here, Dimitri knelt so prettily, so obligingly on his little pillow, Dedue crooning over him. He’s had Dedue’s long unhurried kisses, Dedue’s little homemade sweets, Dedue’s thick fingers petting tongue and teeth. Had Dedue’s cock, twice, ravenous and dazed, and Dedue is spent, no longer young.

Dimitri squirms, torques his neck against his collar, only to be shushed again, gentled, kissed gently on his scalp. “Tomorrow,” Dedue whispers, low enough to be felt more than heard, “my Dima, tomorrow I’ll have you again.”

“Please,” mumbles Dimitri, vehement. “Want to be good to you, t-to give you… what you deserve. Dedue--”

“Yes,” Dedue assures him, time and again, palms sweeping soft across his back. “Yes, you will, and you’ll have yours.”

He keens with that, with the promise in it. Never assumes that it’ll come, only waits, long and precious patient, for the offer.

“I want to,” he whimpers, “D’due…!”

Dedue knows. Knows, and loves, and holds him, shifting their weight in a soft rock for a moment, soothing. 

“You’ll have it,” they repeat, as certain as the cadence of a song, and Dimitri aches.

Bears it, though, as he always does, until Dedue slows to a halt, until their hands drift down to rest on thickening hips, until there’s nothing to Dimitri but shivering, wanting.

They move him, as careful as setting a bone, until he sits astride their thigh, their thin white skirt, until he’s pressed to them where their figure’s full, where Dimitri’s flaring.

“There,” they whisper, “there you are, beloved.”

There is a silence, interrupted only by hitching breaths, the highland winds beyond the shutters.

“Go ahead.”

Dimitri nigh on breaks just then. Scumbles it, though, holds it off with his eyes wet against Dedue’s sleeve, crooked fingers scrabbling at their back. They hold him, clutching breast to breast, and murmur something in his ear.

It’s only half-sense, but Dimitri knows it like an old prayer. He gasps sharply, cants his hips all jolting and uneven, pressing Dedue’s ample hip against the place he needs, needs them.

He tells them that he does, voice thick, muffled against the safety of their neck, the starlit flow of their hair.

They know, and they hold him, the way they always will. Gentle and incontrovertible like scripture, until Dimitri falls apart, sobbing and sighing and spilling in his robe, until he stills.

And then after, always after, until they can be prised apart, until the callused pad of Dedue’s thumb comes to brush his tears away, clear the slick from his lips. To stroke his jaw, carefully and then down to rub circles on his back, to take his heartbeat by the hand and lead it somewhere slow.

“There you go,” they murmur, soft and steady. “That’s it, that’s right, that’s wonderful, my Dima.”

 _Their Dima--_ Dimitri quivers with it still, an echo, an aftershock of the time they’d said it first, those many years ago. Thinks, inasmuch as he has the wherewithal to, that this is all he truly wants to be.

He never thought he’d grow old, but this, always this, is the way he wants to do it.

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi!!! or should i say ho ho ho!!! merry christmas one and all! unless that's not your scene in which case i'd like to wish you a very pleasant friday.
> 
> i really hope you liked this, it was 100% a labor of love and i did very much try to make it Good and Tender. do let me know if i've succeeded and if you'd like to talk about anime chess pieces fucking or simply watch me moon publicly over my partner, you may come follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles)
> 
> thank you all and much much love!


End file.
